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I have bad flight karma.

“Well, dude, if you had ‘bad flight karma’ then wouldn’t the plane hit a mountain or something,” you’re probably saying. Well that’s a bit extreme.

No, I’ll give you an example of bad flight karma, as it pertains to me: If there’s a guy on the plane whose nickname in college was “Moose,” “Bull” or “Meat,” I one-hundred percent guarantee that he will be sitting in front of me. No doubt about it. In fact, while at the gate waiting to board, I could pass for psychic by grabbing the biggest man at the gate and announce. “Sir, although we have never met, I can tell you that you are sitting in Row 7 seat D…Sir take a look at your ticket and show it to the audience. Amazing.”